


Sea and fire and woman, three evils

by GingerKI



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26410804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerKI/pseuds/GingerKI
Summary: Of course, she’d have to deal with it. She couldn’t let some sunburned tourist get eaten just because she was wearing a cute outfit and feeling full-to-bursting of bread, cheese, roast chicken and wine and just wanted to chill, have a nightcap and, if the mood hit her and opportunity presented itself, flirt shamelessly with the wait staff.
Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers
Comments: 7
Kudos: 27





	1. Prologue: I got my red dress on tonight

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> In short, I do not own anything Joss would want and he owns a lot of stuff I do. I'm doing this solely to amuse myself and, maybe on a good day, entertain others. I leave that to them to decide.
> 
> What follows is what happens when Ginger is forced to stay in her home for months on end and copes by dreaming about the wonderful places she's had the immense privilege and pleasure of visiting back when we could do things like that.

Okay, so it wasn’t the vacation Buffy had originally planned but it was turning out alright. Better than alright, in fact. The resort was amazing, even if it did have a couple-y vibe. That had been the original point, after all, a last-ditch attempt at convincing herself that something was right when it just… was not. Besides, there was something to be said for having that mothership of a bed all to herself. So, she had largely contented herself with hanging out on the ginormous deck with the spectacular view of the Mediterranean, ordering room service and day drinking when she wasn’t making use of Crete’s extensive bus network to explore the island. In other words, send help. Said no one. Ever.

Not to mention the offers to _‘show her Rethymno’_ she had politely declined since her mid-afternoon arrival in Crete’s third-largest city, and more than one from a bone fide hottie. Confidence-boosting to be sure, just as Dawn had predicted the trip would be in the wake of a breakup when Buffy had told her that she planned to go anyway. The trip had been fully booked and paid for, so she’d decided to go as planned and turn lemons into lemonade.

After days of knocking around in shorts and t-shirts, her braided hair tucked under a bandana, she had decided to put forth the effort, to wear the coral Anthropologie halter dress with the pretty floral pattern she had bought for a romantic evening out. She knew it suited her, the retro sweetheart neckline making the most of what she had to offer in the cleavage department – just the right amount of _come hither_ without crossing the line to _come and get it._ She completed the look with cute and comfortable platform wedge sandals, a messy updo, sheer makeup, pearl stud earrings in a white gold shell setting, and a straw tote that came in handy any time she planned to be anywhere near shops; the outfit _was_ her. She felt comfortable in it and that made her feel confident, which she had long ago figured out was 80% of looking good.

Stopping at the waterfront to take a photo of the lighthouse in the old harbor as the dying embers of a spectacular sunset glowed on the horizon, Buffy inhaled deeply and smiled. She’d have her romantic evening out, taking the time to get reacquainted with someone she had been neglecting lately. And why not? It was a gorgeous night and she had all the time in the world. She wouldn’t even have to worry about the bus schedules, the concierge having arranged a car to collect her when she was ready to head back to the resort; all she’d have to do is call. So, dinner first then maybe some dancing and, who knows, maybe she’d get an offer for a drink, to pass a little time, that she wouldn’t feel like politely declining. With a shrug she turned to head in the direction of the restaurant that the nice woman she had met on the bus ride over had recommended to her.

* * * *

_You have GOT to be kidding me…_

A vampire. Tonight, of all nights. Not any of the other nights when she had knocked around in cutoff shorts and a tank top. When this hardly even happened to her anymore outside of a _major disturbance_ as Giles in his typically British way would refer to the large-scale trouble that demons tended to cook up while trying to survive on a globe crawling with active slayers, several on this island alone, not that she had bothered to seek out her Cretan colleagues because _this was supposed to be a vacation, damn it!_ She still always carried a stake with her the way that other women carried a comb or lip balm or a spare tampon for emergencies. The _problem_ was that the vampire she sensed was _inside_ the quaint-looking café on a quiet side street that she was about to enter, having opted for a low-key end to her evening over the loud, sweaty crush of a dance club, and she would either need to figure out a way to discreetly convince him or her to take it outside or be forced to publicly play out a scene which would inevitably result in her having to lie low for the remainder of her stay on the island.

Buffy hovered at the entrance for another beat, her shoulders slumping. Of course, she’d _have to_ deal with it. She couldn’t let some sunburned tourist get eaten just because she was wearing a cute outfit and feeling full-to-bursting of bread, cheese, roast chicken and wine and just wanted to chill, have a nightcap and, if the mood hit her and opportunity presented itself, flirt shamelessly with the wait staff. With a weary sigh she took a step inside, concluding that there was no point in putting off the inevitable when she heard,

“A Cretan Kings, Nicos. Thanks ever so.”

**TBC**


	2. But that was love and it's an ache I still remember

Buffy stood at the café table where he was seated, arms hanging limply at her sides as she stared into a set of familiar, equally startled blue eyes and gaped like an idiot. While having him drop out of the sky and into the middle of her vacation would have been a surprise _,_ although not an enormous one really because Spike, it was his _appearance_ that was truly shocking _._ He looked… well… amazing was one way to describe it. Totally un-Spike-like was another. Hot _as fuck_ was… accurate too.

Where to begin. His hair was neither bleached white nor tamed into submission with gallons of product but instead was what she knew (never mind how) to be his natural light brown (honey?) color. Even more striking were the sun streaks only _obviously not_ or _Mr. Big Pile of Dust_ , which meant that he had to have had it chemically highlighted and, whoa, good call there. The curls (which she had always secretly adored) were also longer than usual. It didn’t end there.

Not only was his duster nowhere to be found but… _just wow._ He was wearing a casual chambray button down with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows and open at the neck just so to accentuate how exquisitely that neck joined to that torso. The only concessions to the vampire she knew were a sliver bracelet on his left wrist and several delicate silver rings (nary a skull in sight), which served to call attention to the flawless alabaster skin of his soft yet deadly strong forearms and the elegance of his lethal yet relentlessly talented hands. She leaned sideways for a glance under the table to find that he wore pale blue or maybe gray – it was hard to tell in the dim light of the café – lightweight slacks and, holy moly, a pair of slip-on boat shoes!

When she looked up again Spike’s expression had evolved from surprised to faintly amused, his eyebrows upraised in such a way that she could practically hear him say _‘You get kicked in the head, Slayer?’_ Someone, she assumed the aforementioned Nicos, had joined them and was standing by the table with Spike’s beer on a tray, his expression of amiable patience no doubt well practiced over seasons of waiting on nutty tourists. Spike cleared his throat then stood up and walked around the table to pull out the chair opposite his and offer,

“Have a seat, Buffy. Nicos, please get the lady whatever she fancies.”

Buffy was suddenly assaulted by a vivid, if fleeting, image of what she might fancy but was pretty sure that it wasn’t the type of thing Nicos could get for her or the police would shut him down. Feeling her face flush, she gulped and willed herself forward to take the seat offered to her.

“Wine… white… and water… please… thank you,” she uttered distractedly. Nicos nodded and disappeared then she turned her attention back to Spike who’d retaken the seat opposite hers and croaked, 

“What…?”

Apparently, she was leaving it up to him to mentally fill in ‘… _are you doing here’_ or maybe ‘… _are you doing posing as a prep school graduate on holiday’_ or perhaps the straightforward tried and true ‘… _the fuck are you up to now?’_

He smiled then. That sweet and indulgent smile that felt like a loving caress, the memory of which had not dimmed in the years since she had been the recipient of his loving caress. The smile did nothing to help her gather her wits currently scattered about the quiet, mostly empty café like a handful of marbles.

“Nice to see you too, Buffy,” he replied wryly then added with absolute sincerity, “You look beautiful,” because, clearly, he was going to be no help at all.

“So do you.”

_Wait, who said that? Did I just say that?_

Averting her eyes, Buffy was relieved to see Nicos approaching again with her drinks. And she thought the previous handful of times she’d seen Spike since Sunnydale had been awkward. Because, it turns out, when you go from mortal enemies to allies of convenience to mutual nuisances to real allies to one of you dying then coming back to secret lovers to _going very wrong_ to one of you going to mind-blowing lengths to make it right again to tentative friends to true and dear friends to the other one of you dying and coming back, it can be _really hard_ to have that _very next_ conversation. Who knew?

Besides, their previous encounters had all been in crisis situations of varying degrees of seriousness from run-of-the-mill-evil-life-threatening to potentially-world-ending, and there had always been the task at hand. And there had always been the others – Giles or Dawn or slayers or, God help her, Angel and it had all been _impossible_ because of all those eyes, all those eyes _on them,_ watching and wondering and the weight of that watching and wondering driving them each to opposite sides of the room. But now, she mused as she managed to produce a smile for Nicos when he set her water and wine in front of her then gave her a charming little bow, there were no eyes on them except his and she doubted he was invested beyond how many rounds they’d spring for. Unless…

After a fortifying sip of wine, she asked, “Are you here for… Is anything wrong? Anything I should know about?”

“Nah, here on holiday is all. Working on my tan,” he added with a wink then sipped his beer.

She rolled her eyes but relaxed into her seat and took another sip of wine. Banter she could do. That was, after all, their original form of communication with one another, falling into it so easily when he was a notorious century-old vampire hellbent on killing his third slayer and she was a lovesick child who just happened to be in love for the first time with his grandsire and also happened to be that third slayer he was determined to kill. Ah, good times.

“What about you?” he asked, and she noticed that he was fiddling with his rings, occasionally drumming his fingers on the tabletop. Which she knew meant that she wasn’t the only one thrown for a loop.

“Same,” she replied.

“All on your lonesome? Leave what’s-his-name home?”

She knew that he knew what’s-his-name’s name. Dawn and Spike had properly made up years earlier and her sister had been in regular contact with him ever since, keeping him appraised of her big sister’s love life and talking up even the barest hint of activity, while keeping her similarly posted on the various damsels he had saved from distress over the years. Buffy knew this was intended to goad one or the other, maybe both, into action. She put up with it because she couldn’t bring herself to quash the hopeless romantic inside her little sister, even if Dawn was now a full-fledged adult in a committed relationship of her own with a job and a mortgage and a new puppy and could probably handle it. Also, because she _was_ genuinely curious about the damsels even if hearing about them tended to sour her mood for days.

“Pete’s in New York. He decided to take a job back in the States to be closer to family. He starts after Labor Day so he’s taking this month to get settled first.”

“And you’re _here_ so… _not_ taking a bite out of the Big Apple then?”

“No.”

Spike merely nodded once then took another sip of beer, foregoing the perfunctory _sorry to hear that_ because he usually didn’t say things he didn’t mean, not to her anyway. Which was one of the things she had missed most about him. It was, she had come to realize, a remarkably rare quality. Taking another sip of wine, she asked,

“How long have you been on Crete?”

“While now, staying the summer.”

“Wow, your boss offers a generous vacation package.”

“Guess you could say business is on hiatus.”

“Really. Whatever will the good people of L.A. do without the Starsky and Hutch of the demon world?”

Smirking at her allusion to his partnership of sorts with Angel he responded, “Guess they’ll have to call on the bitty slayers we keep tripping over.”

“Bitty? I personally trained them, Spike. Any one of them could send you through a wall.”

“Cheers to that!” he toasted with a grin.

Buffy raised her glass with an answering smile. The shock and self-consciousness wearing off, she was starting to enjoy herself. Which was hardly surprising since she was sitting across from someone who could make her laugh while facing looming disaster and imminent death with, as far as she knew anyway, neither on the horizon. She was on a gorgeous island in the middle of the Mediterranean, miles away from anyone either of them knew. No weight of speculation. Or expectation. Just them. For the first time in… well, ever. That realization set off about 10,000 butterflies, although she did her best not to let on that it did. As Nicos was passing their table he stopped to ask if he could get them another round to which Spike inquired,

“What do you say, lu-Buffy?”

_Lu-Buffy?_

She was momentarily fixated on his flub, and the hopeful look in his eyes, then considered the time and deflating a bit, noted, 

“Oh, crap, I probably shouldn’t. I need to call the driver to take me back.”

“To?” Spike asked.

“Out of the Blue… it’s on the way to Heraklion.”

“Heard of it. Posh.”

“Yeah, it’s great.” She left out the part about sticking mostly to her room to avoid feeling like an 803rd wheel and went on, 

“The concierge arranged a car for me. I just need to call, and the driver will be here in, like, ten minutes… but I _did_ say I wouldn’t be too late, and I _don’t_ want to be _that_ American.”

“Night’s young. Cancel the driver. Have another round then I’ll run you over there,” he offered, as Nicos stood patiently by holding an empty tray to his chest.

She paused a moment to consider then asked herself who she was kidding and said, “Okay,” as she leaned over to dig her phone out of her bag.

“The same?” Nicos asked.

“Yeah, that was delish,” she answered.

“Spotted you with a bottle earlier what looked like it was from Stelios and Magda’s place,” Spike observed.

“Yes, Klados Vidiano is our house white this month,” Nicos confirmed.

“Ah, good call, mate. First-rate people, they are.”

Holding her phone to her ear, Buffy followed their conversation as Nicos cleared the table of their empties while she waited for the driver to pick up. When he did, she politely canceled the car while pledging that, for his trouble, there would be an envelope waiting for him on his next trip out to the resort. She was dropping her phone back into her bag when Nicos reappeared with their drinks then swiftly disappeared again in that way competent wait staff did when they sensed the party at the table had major catching up to do.

“So, you know _everyone_ on Crete?”

“Hardly. There are over 600,000 people on this island, to say nothing of the inhabitants who don’t strictly qualify as _people._ Happen to be staying near the winery Stelios and his sister run, nice little operation they have. We’re… _neighbors_ to the extent I have neighbors. So, how are you enjoying your holiday so far?”

“It’s been great. I’ve mostly enjoyed doing a lot of nothing but soaking up sun and scenery, but I did go to Knossos of course. Oh… and I hiked the gorge, which turned out to be a _real_ adventure.”

“Is that so? By the common definition or _our_ definition?”

“I was on my own on the tour, and so was another woman about my age so we decided to pair up and hike together. We were having a grand old time until she twisted her ankle halfway down and I had to practically carry her the rest of the way but couldn’t _literally_ carry her or I would have had _a lot_ of explaining to do. I just let her lean on me as much as she needed to and hoped the excruciating pain would distract her from noticing how much of her weight I was bearing and keep her from asking too many questions. By the time we got out, we had missed the last boat of the day and had to stay in the little fishing village at the bottom, the one you can only get to by boat.”

“Agia Roumeli.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. Most of the rooms were booked but we were able to score two over a cute little grocery store. Nothing fancy, but clean, and everyone was so nice, and we ended up having a great time. We exchanged emails and promised to keep in touch so I may have made a new friend. Yay me!”

“What?” she tacked on in response to his smile of the adoring variety.

“Bird was lucky you were there for her.”

“That’s what she said. It was nice to… I don’t know… to be _needed_ in a way that didn’t involve… well, you know,” she mused with a shrug then reached for her wine again.

Leaning forward he stated in a low voice, “Both know wasn’t killing what got you this far, Slayer. Any idiot can kill. Was the light in you, your heart, your mind, what changed the bloody world.”

He lingered there a moment, holding her gaze in that way that made her feel stripped bare. Just as she felt heat rise in her cheeks, he sat back, picked up his beer and asked,

“So, what did you think of Knossos?”

* * * *

Buffy closed her eyes and exhaled, enjoying the sensation of the wind in her hair as they sped along the highway. What had been a truly excellent day had now taken on a dreamlike quality. She wasn’t entirely sure that this wasn’t a dream… or even something more sinister. Maybe she had been attacked by a demon with hallucinatory powers. Wouldn’t be the first time. Maybe she was home in her own bed, sweating out a fever under Willow’s or Dawn’s watchful eye. Maybe she wasn’t on Crete at all. She opened her eyes and turned to see Spike beside her, eyes glued to the road, curls bobbing in the wind and wondered if reaching out to run her fingers through them would halt the hallucination and jolt her back to reality. She opted instead to break the silence that had descended once they’d gotten away from the city and onto the open road by asking,

“Where on earth did you get this old… Jeep?”

“Range Rover. Classic. 1962. Fully restored. Long story that and… well, you probably wouldn’t want to hear it.”

“You’re right, I probably wouldn’t. Anyway, it’s cool. I like it, it’s very… beachy,” she offered with a shrug as she turned her attention back to the road because her exit would be coming up soon.

“This is it up ahead, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she replied and, when he exited the highway, guided him turn-by-turn to her resort.

Spike killed the engine, looked at her and smiled then offered, “Was really lovely to see you, Buffy.”

Smiling back, she replied, “Yeah, it was nice...”

Buffy wanted to use this unexpected opportunity to say something more, to say things she had wanted to say on their previous post-hellmouth encounters but between _everything_ and _everyone_ never got the chance and now here they were alone… _finally…_ but… where to begin? _Thank you for liberating me from a lifetime of guarding a hellmouth – sorry, I should have sent you flowers or maybe a Hickory Farms gift box to show my appreciation when I found out you were back. Speaking of, I cried because I was SO happy after missing and grieving you more than… okay, I will admit it, more than I ever would have thought possible considering what a mess we had been. Then I cried because it hurt that you didn’t come to me or even call. Oh, and did you really not believe me when I said it, or did you say what you said so that I would leave you to do what you needed to do?_

“Well, thanks for the ride,” was where she landed and reached down to pick up her tote because she was obviously a coward, or a tongue-tied idiot, probably both.

“Anytime, Slayer,” he responded in that tone of wry affection that was uniquely him.

She turned to him again and, ho boy, the moonlight was as kind to him as ever, his pale skin almost luminescent, his eyes appearing so dark that someone seeing him for the first time wouldn’t know that they were blue – not baby blue but deep blue like the sea she could hear in the distance. She hadn’t known the first time she looked into the eyes of her then mortal enemy. She had no idea when the true color of his eyes had first registered to her. In her own living room, the first time she had invited him into her home… maybe? What she knew for sure was that those eyes were unlike any others she had ever known, and not just the color but the staggering array of emotions they had communicated to her over the years. She also knew that in a few short hours she had become aware of just how much she had missed looking into them.

And on that thought she abruptly stopped thinking, lest she talk herself out of what she did next, which was lean forward to press her lips sweetly to his and kiss him in a way she had not since the time she had gone to his crypt to find out if he had sold out her sister to a hellgod. His lips were every bit as soft and cool and full as she remembered but, instead of tobacco and whiskey, he tasted like the salt air and it was like her favorite ice cream brand had come out with a yummy limited edition flavor for summer. Between that and the delicious little noise of surprise he had made in his throat she _really_ did not want to pull away but knew that she had to because otherwise she would not be able to restrain herself from climbing onto his lap right there and… oh, right.

“Exactly how much wine did you have tonight?” he quipped, although the slight tremor in his voice undercut the feigned nonchalance, as had the subtle, barely detectable motion to chase her lips with his own as she pulled away. Most women probably wouldn’t even have noticed but then, she was not most women.

With a sly smile she offered, “Goodnight, Spike,” then made quick exit from the vehicle.

“Always gotta have the last word!” he called out to her and this time his tone was of the genuinely snarky.

“Yup!” she chirped without looking back.

* * * *

“Bugger!” Spike muttered to himself when it dawned on him how late it was as he walked up the drive towards the house.

That woman was a true sadist what put the nastiest sods he had every encountered to shame. There he was, out for a spin on a fine evening, minding his own business and harmlessly enjoying a beer, and in _she_ walks looking like a bloody confection in that pretty little frock, all tanned and well-fed and, because he was well and truly _damned,_ for once like she _wasn’t_ carrying the full weight of the world on her shoulders. It was a look he once would have done _anything_ to see and there it was. The sun may as well have dropped out of the heavens, rolled into the café and clear over him. And that was _before_ the wicked minx had kissed him. Not much of kiss, really, just a peck, as her scent washed over him like fire burning every cell in his body and the taste of her lips made his demon roar with delight.

_Bloody hell!_

And now he was obnoxiously, inexcusably late. He picked up the pace as he walked around the house and across the terrace to the narrow staircase leading down to the second terrace built into the hillside. Quickly descending the stairs, he flipped the switch to the lights illuminating the saltwater pool from below and began unbuttoning his shirt. His visitor stepped out from the shadows on the opposite end of the pool and stood at the edge. She looked gorgeous as usual in a long, gauzy dress; her thick, dark mane piled loosely on her head, errant strands swaying in the gentle breeze.

“Is everything alright, William? I was starting to worry,” she inquired in that lovely, lilting accent.

“Sorry, pet,” he offered as he tossed his shirt aside and toed off his shoes then, as he unbuckled his belt, continued, “Evening took a bit of a turn.”

“You encountered an evil thing?” she asked.

“You could say that,” he replied with a smirk then quickly shimmied out of his slacks and kicked them aside, adding,

“Sorry to keep you waiting. It was rude of me.”

“No need to be sorry. I have nowhere else to be. Now… come to me, sweet William,” she advised, beckoning him to her with arms outstretched.

Spike smiled then dove into the pool, which he quickly lapped, and bobbed up in front of her. She knelt and tenderly swept aside a curl clinging to his forehead then cupped his cheeks in her hands and leaned forward to kiss him.

**TBC**


	3. And the thrill of the chase moves in mysterious ways

_Is that… oh, thank God!_

The house came into view as Buffy rounded the bend on the quiet, dusty road. And not a moment too soon. It was hot and she was cranky, which was making her regret the whole thing. If he had wanted her to know where he was staying, he would have told her. If he had wanted to see her again, he would have made that crystal clear when he had driven her home the night before. The guy who had once _chained her up to show her how much he cared_ wasn’t known for his reticence. While a lot had changed since then, from what she had seen in their previous post-Sunnydale interactions that had not. Truth be told, she thought with a frown as she trudged up the hill towards the house, she wouldn’t have any idea where to find him if not for his casual remark about the winery.

But she did know. Which was why, after a restless night largely spent replaying every moment of her evening with Spike, on the way back from breakfast she had stopped at the concierge desk to inquire about a winery on the way to Rethymno run by a brother and sister, the name of which started with a ‘k’… she thought, because Buffy of the mind like a sieve when it came to names. Fortunately, the concierge had been able to piece that together and explained how to get to Klados Winery by bus, going so far as to write down her stop to show the bus driver thereby avoiding a repeat of an incident early in her stay when she had ended up miles from her intended destination.

Props to society’s icky double standard that dictated a cute petite woman could not possibly be a threat to the hot guy she was obviously stalking. She had asked where the house was, point blank, and Magda had been only too happy to tell her. Which had made Buffy wonder over her wine (it was the least she could do) if they had any idea who Spike really was. And, also, how and when they would have had the opportunity to meet him since the winery closed hours before sunset. Having sunk as low as she was willing to, she had kept those questions to herself and stuck to the topics of the awesomeness of Crete in general, and Klados wine in particular, for the remainder of her visit.

Well, there was no turning back now, she conceded with a heavy sigh as she reached the end of the drive. The walk back to the bus stop was a world of no in this heat and, even though it was late afternoon, that Cretan sun was no joke even by the standards of a California girl. She was starting to wilt, big time. He might still be asleep, and she knew how soundly he slept – the literal sleep of the literally dead – so if need be, she’d find a shady spot to wait it out until he woke up. Or until the sun was low enough in the sky that she could walk back to the bus without turning into Buffy the Human Raisin if she miraculously came to her senses and decided to leave him be. Unlikely though – if sense had ever factored into it, one of them would have ended the other years ago.

Lumbering up the gravel drive she appraised the lovely cream-colored home perched on the edge of a cliff with spectacular views of both the sea and mountains. It was a ridiculous space for a vampire to occupy so it just figured that Spike would be staying there. Ridiculous was on brand for him. Although by the looks of it, he’d have to spend about 15 hours a day locked up indoors, which didn’t sound like much fun. At least not all by himself…

She shook off that train of thought as she passed the sky-blue Range Rover that had conveyed her home the evening before. The gravel of the driveway gave way to stone paving and she took in a tidy little front garden. She climbed the few steps to the porch and headed towards the front door then heard a familiar voice from the back of the house.

“Tommy, got my eye on you, don’t you do it! Dee Dee, don’t be greedy… that’s a good girl!”

_What the…?_

Furrowing her brow, Buffy turned and hurried off the porch then swung a right onto the path leading to the sea-facing side of the house. When she reached the terrace, she gasped, momentarily frozen as she struggled to process what she was seeing. Then, without even realizing what she was doing, she was charging forward at full speed.

* * * *

“Bloody hell, Summers!” Spike yelped as she tackled him to the ground.

She was vaguely aware of mewling, and the odd hiss, no doubt because she had rudely interrupted the meal of the cats he had been feeding. _On the terrace!_ _In broad daylight!_ But she was laser focused on him, on something she had only seen twice in her life and neither had been under pleasant circumstances – Spike in direct sunlight. Sitting up to straddle his torso she took his right hand in hers then his left to examine his fingers, which were free of even the delicate silver rings he wore the night before and, anyway, those had appeared unremarkable and not the type of jewelry capable of the mojo required for this. Then she swept her hand across his forehead then his cheek then down to his bare chest exposed by his open shirt, the chambray from the evening before by the looks of it, to settle over his heart. He silently endured her inspection then placed his hand gently over hers and was about to say something when a prodigiously fluffy cat sauntered up, planted its front paws on his left shoulder and glared up at her.

“Uh, this is Joey. She’s a bit possessive.”

Buffy looked at Joey then back at Spike then shook her head and muttered, “I am losing my mind.”

“No, you are not… if you’d…” he gestured at her seated position atop his person then continued, “I can explain.”

“Oh,” she replied wanly then climbed off him. When she stood up, everything – the terrace, the house, the Mediterranean and even the sky – tilted to the right.

“Whoa,” she murmured, swaying slightly and pressing her right hand to her forehead then adding, “Head rush.”

Spike was on her in a flash, grasping her firmly by her forearms and backing through the open glass door to help her into the house. He led her through the kitchen to a large sofa in the adjacent living area.

“Sit,” he advised and crouched beside her to remove her sunglasses and slip her small crossbody bag over head then gently guided her upper body forward until she was bent double, her head between her knees.

“Do not move, I’ll be right back,” he commanded. She nodded once in reply.

From the kitchen he asked, “How did you get here?”

“The bus,” she replied to the floor, feeling pathetic but also hella woozy so she didn’t dare move.

“You _walked_ all the way up here from _the bus?_ In _this heat?_ ”

“I stopped off at the winery first. To, you know, get directions.”

“Figured. Supposed you had a glass while you were there?”

“Two. It was yummy,” she replied defensively. Truth be told, now that it was threatening to reappear, she regretted the second glass. And the first.

“And it didn’t occur to you to ask them to call you a taxi?”

“No,” she grumbled then continued, “Sorry to inconvenience you. I’ll try not to die while I’m here but if I do, feel free to drag my corpse to the road or just toss it over the side of the cliff.”

“Was gonna call on you later, you know.”

He was back in the living room. She felt him sweep her ponytail aside and a cold compress on the back of her neck. It felt so good that she couldn’t stifle a low moan of relief. Holding the compress in place with one hand, Spike pivoted to sit beside her then softly instructed,

“Sit up… slowly now.”

She gingerly rose then he handed her a tall glass of water and advised, “Sip, don’t gulp, but finish the whole thing.”

Nodding, Buffy took a few sips then Spike gently helped her sit back so that she could rest her head against the sofa and keep the cold compress in place. She sighed, her eyes slipping closed, then circled back to a previous remark.

“So, you were going to call on me… _later?_ Why wait? The sun obviously wasn’t stopping you.”

“This…” He gestured at his own seated form then continued, “Nifty parlor trick and all but still gotta be careful. Sun here’s no joke, as you’ve just seen. Don’t tan or burn because, ya know, dead but if I’m not careful, get dehydrated and by that I don’t mean I go all cockeyed like you, I’m talking more of a walking-talking mummy situation. Clears up soon enough getting out of the sun and a couple pints of blood in me but it’s right uncomfortable meantime. Learned that the hard way, so I stick close to home until sun’s low on the horizon. Besides, knew it would be a shock, didn’t want to just spring it on you. Was working out the best way to tell you.”

“And how’d that work out for you?” she remarked, opening one eye to shoot him a sideward glance.

“ _Would have_ worked just fine if you weren’t so bloody impatient.”

“Apparently we’ve never met so let me introduce myself, I’m Buffy Summers.”

With a wry smile he replied, “Fair point.”

Buffy took a few more sips of her water then closed her eyes again and said, “So, you don’t tan. Bummer. I’m trying to picture you with a tan. Of course, with your skin tone you might just burn and freckle, add to your small collection.”

_I really said that out loud, didn’t I? Maybe he’ll just let it go._

“Small… _collection?_ ”

Of course, he didn’t let it go. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t need to. She swore she could _hear_ _that eyebrow_ go up.

“Never mind.”

“I do not have freckles.”

“If you say so.”

“I bloody well do. Been dragging round this body a long while. Think I’d know.”

“Inside of your left forearm, just below your elbow. It’s tiny, it’s faint, but it’s there.”

“Think you’re mistaking me for some other bloke because I… well, bugger me, will you look at that?”

Buffy drained her glass of the last few sips of water then said, “I don’t need to because I know it’s there. What the hell is going on here, Spike?”

“Was telling the truth last night. Enjoying a bit of a holiday.”

“In, like, the sunniest place on Earth without going all dusty.”

“Give me your glass,” he said then took it from her and got up to go into the kitchen then continued, “Guess you could call it a bonus of sorts for a job well done.”

He returned and handed her the refilled glass then went on, “Had a job, seemed routine enough but… took a turn. Just as soon skip the gory details if it’s all the same to you but we made it out in one piece, mission accomplished. Little worse for wear to be honest. So, some powerful… oh, let’s say _people_ to keep it simple, approached us about a wee token of appreciation. Thought it was bollocks but you know Peaches, for him it’s all about the _Big Picture_ and where he fits into it and I wasn’t in any state to argue so I thought what the hell. Knew I didn’t _deserve_ any reward, just blurted the most ridiculous thing I could think of, a beach holiday, and here I am. Where I shall remain until my _summer’s lease_ expires,” he tacked on with a sly smile.

“And Angel?”

“Doing something useful and important, of course, spending the summer with his boy. Was a little more complicated because Connor had to be willing. Happy it worked out for them.”

Buffy nodded, although even after all this time she _still_ had trouble wrapping her head around the fact that Angel had _a_ _son_ … and _with_ _Darla_. Which just served to underscore how thoroughly their paths had diverged since he’d left Sunnydale. Setting aside ancient history, she inquired,

“So, when does Mr. Rourke kick you off _Fantasy Island_ anyway?”

His lips quirking, he responded, “The autumnal equinox, 22nd of September. Will head out that afternoon, arrive in L.A. after dark to resume life as a creature what goes bump in the night.”

“Wow, you have more than a month left here.”

“Yup. Nice work if you can get it.”

They sat in silence for a time as she continued to sip her water. A kitten, looking about three months old not that Buffy was any expert given her pet-less existence, padded into the room then jumped up onto the sofa beside her and blinked up at her.

“Hello,” she offered. It tilted its head at her in a manner evocative of the vampire sitting on the other side of her, the effect amplified by the deep blue of the cat’s eyes.

“That’s Johnny.”

“Of course, it is,” she remarked amusedly.

“Joey, that’s the mum – you met earlier – could say she comes with the place. Johnny here is one of her brood, along with his brother Tommy and sister Dee Dee.”

Johnny proceeded to rub his cheek against her arm several times – like his two-legged caretaker he was a champion nuzzler – then curled up beside her. Closing his eyes, he commenced purring like a boat motor, bringing forth one of those memories she shuttered away but would sometimes bubble up into her consciousness as she lay in bed late at night. Memories of taking solace in Spike’s embrace in the waning days of Sunnydale, of the low rumble of contentment that would emanate from his chest as he held her, the sound of the demon as content as the man to have her close.

“Think he likes you,” he commented, breaking her reverie.

“Think you’re right.”

“Lost my train of thought earlier. You said I had _a collection._ Where are the others?”

_Oh, jeez…_

“Don’t remember,” she lied, knowing full well that he knew she was full of it. Fortunately, he let it go.

“How are you feeling?”

“Like I’m no longer about to toss my cookies so better, thanks… except…”

“Now you’re hungry. When was the last time you ate?”

_How does HE DO THAT?!?!_

“Breakfast,” she confessed with a sigh.

“Honestly, Slayer, how did I _not_ kill you when you were a sprog?”

“Well, besides Mom… ax, I think it’s because it wasn’t long before you weren’t really trying that hard,” she replied candidly.

Spike’s answering scowl as he rose from the sofa was adorable. To avoid betraying that she thought so, Buffy looked away from him and down at the sleeping Johnny then tenderly stroked his soft fur, eliciting the cutest little kitten noises from him. Spike buttoned his shirt then patted his pockets and looked around as he declared,

“Nothing here but booze, blood and kibble, none of which’ll do you any good. I’ll run out and get you a proper meal.”

She tracked his movements to the far end of the open kitchen-dining-living area where he disappeared into one of two doors adjacent to a third – the only interior doors in the house – which she assumed led to his bedroom. He swiftly emerged wearing a pair of Wayfarers, which he rocked of course because he was the epitome of evil temptation (the evilest!) and he damn well knew it.

“Sit tight. I’ll be back in two shakes,” he advised then was gone.

She didn’t, of course. As soon as she heard the Range Rover pull away Buffy got up. Her first stop was the kitchen. She placed her empty glass in the sink and shook what was left of the ice he had folded into a tea towel into the sink then hung the towel over the back of a chair to dry. Then she conducted a cursory snoop of the premises. His bedroom faced the water and had a separate door to the terrace. There were candles and books on the night table so situation normal there. She knew better than to snoop _inside the drawer_ or probably wouldn’t be able to make eye contact with him without blushing. The bed was neatly made which was also no surprise. The wardrobe held mostly the type of clothing a man vacationing on Crete might wear, but she also found the set of clothes he had obviously traveled in – _Spike’s clothes_ – including one of the newer dusters he’d been wearing the last few years, although she had no idea why. She ran her hand over it then lifted a sleeve and pressed it to her nose, inhaling the scent of leather, which she knew she would associate with him for as long as she lived. Smiling wistfully, she closed the wardrobe door then moved on to inspect the bathroom and the second bedroom, which was cozy and had a lovely mountain view.

Returning to the sofa she found Johnny where she’d left him. He looked up at her and yawned. As if by power of suggestion, she yawned in reply. She hadn’t slept well the night before and now that the room had stopped spinning and her mouth no longer felt like the bottom of a birdcage, sleepiness was overtaking hunger.

“Hey, buddy, mind making a little room?” she asked as she reached down to unbuckle her sandals then kicked them off, scooped up the kitten and stretched out on the sofa, setting him down beside her.

Johnny immediately clambered onto her body, curling up on her belly just below her breasts, and gazed sleepily up at her. With an impish smile she recalled that his two-legged caretaker was once fond of resting his head in that spot… when she was in the mood to let him. Gently rubbing the kitten’s ears, she whispered,

“What am I doing here, Johnny?”

Apparently having nothing to offer on the topic, Johnny yawned again, rested his chin on his paws, closed his eyes, and resumed purring. The vibration was as soothing as the fresh sea air wafting in from the terrace and Buffy was soon drifting off on a calm sea.

* * * *

Buffy awoke in darkness, momentarily disoriented until the events of the day came flooding back to her. Johnny was gone and she was covered with a light cotton blanket. Propping herself onto her elbows, she squinted into the darkness. Sitting up, she pushed aside the blanket then stretched and swiveled her legs onto the floor. She stood up and stretched again then looked out onto the moonlit terrace. Noticing that the glass door was still open she shrugged and padded outside. The sound of splashing from below drew her to the edge and she took in something that had eluded her earlier in the shock accompanying her arrival. There was a lower terrace built into the cliffside large enough to accommodate a swimming pool, two chaise and an umbrella. But that wasn’t what made her do a double take, her eyes go wide.

No, that would be Spike. Swimming. Swimming _in the nude._ His pale body slicing through the dark blue water, elegant muscles flexing. Powerful. Beautiful. She was mesmerized. A faint voice in the back of her mind told her that she should go back inside, that she was invading his privacy. As far as he knew, she was sacked out on his couch. She ignored that voice and continued to drink in his beauty. God, she had missed him. Not just his handsome… well, everything, but also his voice and his sense of humor and calling her on her bullshit and knowing what she needed sometimes even before she did.

She hadn’t told him that she was scheduled to leave the following afternoon. She hadn’t had a chance what with the passing out cold and sleeping the rest of the day away. What would he say when she did? Would he ask her to stay longer? What would she say if he did? She knew what she wanted _to do_ but when it came down to it, would she have the nerve to _say_ it? Give her an apocalypse and she had nerves of steel and a gut of iron. Put a romantic partner in front of her, past or present, and she tended towards blithering idiot.

She was about to turn and go inside to wait for him, maybe look into that food he’d gone out to get for her earlier, when someone stepped out of the shadows at one end of the pool. Make that a woman. Make that a beautiful woman with long dark hair and a voluptuous figure and a long dress and gold bracelets on her arms and Buffy _really_ wanted to go back inside but was frozen to the spot, her stupid feet refusing to cooperate even as she was _so_ dreading what could possibly happen next. Spike lapped the pool and surfaced where his visitor was standing. The woman smiled and offered,

“Good evening, William.”

“Fay,” he responded with a nod and even though she couldn’t see his face from her vantage point, she could hear the smile in his voice.

She bit her trembling lip, her chest constricting as she watched the woman kneel at the edge of the pool, take his face in her hands and lean in like she was about to… look up and make eye contact with Buffy. The woman uttered something inaudible and Spike turned his head to follow her gaze. When his eyes met Buffy’s, her feet suddenly clocked back on duty. She turned to hurry into the house and stumbled in the doorway, steadying herself on the door jamb to keep from going down. Searching blindly for her bag and sandals, she didn’t even stop to put them on before leaving by the front door. Bounding down the porch steps, she turned to see Joey sitting in the front garden meticulously cleaning her paws. The feline paused to look up at Buffy with an expression that seemed to convey,

_“Toodaloo, Bitch!”_

**TBC**


	4. I won’t let love disrupt, corrupt or interrupt me

_OwOwOwOwOw_

“Shit!” Buffy uttered through gritted teeth as the gravel drive compelled her to stop and put on her sandals. Dropping them to the ground, she jammed her feet into them and was bending to close the buckles when she heard him call out,

“Slayer… Buffy, where you buggering off to?!?”

“In case you hadn’t heard, three’s a crowd, Spike!” she called back when she stood up then continued down the drive, picking up the pace as she heard and felt him closing in on her.

“It’s not what it looks like.” He was right behind her now.

“It’s none of my business, but here’s a bit of advice. What _humans_ would do in a situation like this is wake me up and politely ask me to leave because you were expecting… _company._ ”

“That’s not… Where in bloody blazes you think you’re going at this hour anyway? Take you forever to get back on the bus if it’s even running now.”

“Not your problem!”

They had gotten to the road with Buffy rather absurdly charging down it and Spike trailing behind her. Their path was unlit, illuminated only by moonlight and she stumbled over a rock or a root or something, turning her ankle in the process. He lunged to catch her as she threw her arms up to steady herself, her elbow connecting with his nose. They both ended up on the ground for the second time in one day, only this time Buffy was face down on pavement with Spike half on top of her.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed.

“Ow,” she muttered.

He rolled off her and onto his back then sighed and stated, “Moment I set eyes on you last night, knew I was getting popped in the nose one way or another. You okay?”

_Define ‘okay.’_

She wished the ground on which she was currently splattered like roadkill would open up and swallow her whole but she was pretty sure that wasn’t what he was asking so she replied, “Yeah,” then rolled onto her back and sat up to dust herself off.

“Sorry about your nose,” she offered.

“S’okay, used to it by now.”

“Maybe _Fay_ can put some ice on it.”

“She will do no such thing because she’s not… we’re not _involved._ Least not the way you think. _”_

“Naked kissing isn’t _involved?_ Okay, I get it, nothing serious. Summer fling. No strings. Your vacation. Your prerogative.”

Chuckling, Spike sat up and explained, “Clearly _you do not_ because _Phae_ is short for _Phaedra_ , daughter of Minos, as would befit a priestess descended from a long line dedicated to an ancient cult what has existed in these parts for 5,000 years.”

“Who-what now?”

“Vampire, pet, which you bloody well know places me pretty high in the demon pecking order. Takes a fair bit more than sunscreen for the likes of me to see the light of day. Beyond the scope of what humans can conjure on their own, even powerful humans like Red. Requires tapping into real power.”

“Like a god?”

“Like a goddess, point of fact. Asasara, the snake goddess.”

“So, the skinny dipping and face sucking is…”

“There is no face sucking, Summers. Just a wee kiss, is all, transfer of power. Phae acts as a conduit of sorts. As for the pool, it’s something to do with ritual cleansing… bit fuzzy on the small print to be honest, but it’s gotta be _all of me_ so…” He shrugged.

“Oh,” she muttered, blinking away from him.

_Oh?!?! That’s all you got_ … _oh?!?!_

Hopping up onto his feet, Spike held out a hand to her and advised, “C’mon, been almost a full day since you last ate.”

Looking up at him she responded, “I should probably… I’m leaving tomorrow. My flight’s at 3:00.”

Even in moonlight she could see his face fall, his entire body deflate in disappointment, but he shook it off and said, “Still gotta eat. Then I’ll run you back so you can get some kip before you travel.”

Buffy nodded then took Spike’s hand, allowing him to help her to her feet.

* * * *

“You have to do the ritual every night?” Buffy asked as she tucked into what she had discovered on this trip that Greeks refer to as ‘Greek salad’ – no greens, just perfectly ripe and sweet tomatoes, cucumbers, green peppers, onions, olives and feta drizzled with olive oil, sea salt and oregano.

“Yeah, hardly an imposition given the reward… well, not usually,” Spike tacked on amusedly as he placed the halloumi he had reheated for her on the table alongside several spreads and flatbread because of course he had assembled a perfect little feast for her.

He sat down across from her at the table, opened a beer and continued, “Planet’s lousy with islands, all shapes and sizes, each one lovelier than the last, but ended up here because of the type of power Phae’s lot are packing. Rupert and Red are surely aware of their existence… wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been in contact over the years. Local slayers are no doubt acquainted and may even tap them on occasion, though I’ve never asked and haven’t met any. Like I said, meant to be a holiday not a _working_ holiday. If I can help it.”

“Same,” Buffy agreed with a nod then stuffed a forkful of halloumi into her mouth and emitted a snort.

“Something wrong with your cheese?” he inquired, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“No, it’s delicious, I love it, but it makes my teeth squeak.”

And there it was again, that look of indulgent affection that no one, not a single person living or… not, could replicate. Her heart sank at the idea of rushing back to loud, crowded London. Loud, crowded, _Spike-less_ London. Setting aside the more outlandish aspects of their long association, somewhere along the way and hell if she could pinpoint when, she had really grown to _like_ Spike in a way that she never grew to _like_ Angel, her feelings for him having been consumed with their doomed love affair that also bore the added weight of being her first. Except for their darkest moments of that long-past year of chaos, and the acute if relatively short period of awkwardness that followed his return with his soul, it had always been _easier_ to be around Spike than Angel. Or anyone, really, besides her immediate family and closest friends and at times not even them.

“Well, eat up so I can see you home. Busy day tomorrow and what not.”

“I don’t want to,” she blurted, initially startled by her own words but immediately finding herself leaning into them because they were true.

“Can wrap it up for you to take back in case you get to feeling peckish.”

Setting down her fork, Buffy took a fortifying sip of sparkling water then set her jaw and clarified, “No, I mean I don’t want to leave. Here, right now. Or Crete, tomorrow.”

The only sign of emotion was a hopeful flicker in his eyes. He took a swig of beer and replied evenly, “Then don’t.”

* * * *

Buffy was so tense as she stood outside his bedroom door that she was practically holding her breath. Maybe she was holding her breath, she couldn’t really tell. Probably not, though, because she doubted that she could hold it for that long.

_OMG, Buffy, DO something!!!!_

Turns out she didn’t have to because the door swung open and she found herself looking into Spike’s inquiring eyes. Which meant that she caught his discreet sweep of her current state of dress, which was not so much in the tank top (sans bra) and undies she had stripped down to for bed. She had tried to talk herself out of it, to convince herself to stay put, as she lay wide awake in the other bedroom. But it had been no use and here she was. This was impulsive. This was reckless. Her therapist would have a field day. Fortunately, she wouldn’t be seeing her for a while so that was music to face another day.

“You alright, pet?” She nodded.

“Uh… something you need then?” Again with the non-verbal response.

Furrowing his brow, he dragged a hand through his locks then asked, “Do you want to be _here_ … _with me?”_

She nodded a third time, having apparently gone mute but, hey, at least she was managing to get her point across. He stepped aside to let her pass but left the door open, perhaps to convey that she was free to bolt as soon as she came to her senses. Of course, she knew something that he did not: that that was not at all likely.

Buffy sank onto the queen-size bed then scooted up to lean back against the headboard, tracking Spike’s movements as he paced around it. He picked up the book he had apparently set down when he got up to open the door, placing it on the bedside table, then slowly, carefully climbed into bed beside her as if any sudden movement might spook her. With a sweet half-smile, he opened his arms to her. She immediately folded herself into them.

_Ok, wow._

It was just like she remembered. Perfect fit. She exhaled deeply, melting into him. They stayed like that for what felt like a very long time until she felt his lips press feather-light to her forehead then smiled and looked up at him expectantly.

“I would very much like to kiss you, Buffy Summers. Is that something you might fancy?”

“Oh my God, yes.”

_Huh, voice is back…_

Not that she planned on using it… much because Spike’s lips, lips of Spike… shyly, tenderly worrying her lips. It was delicious but she needed more, had not for a millisecond forgotten his talented tongue and what it could do to her and, yay, there it was, slipping into her mouth to duel, to dance, with hers. And wasn’t that all they had ever done? Had it only been a day since she’d stumbled upon him? Would he understand what this was? She’d make him understand. These thoughts ran through her mind in rapid succession and were gone. What replaced them was the notion that nowhere near enough of her body was touching his.

She propelled herself onto her knees and threw one over his outstretched legs to straddle them, only breaking contact when she sat back to unbutton his shirt. The look on his face was priceless – part lust, part kid on Christmas Morning, with a tiny bit of fear mixed in – and made her want to tear the shirt off his body only it was a really nice shirt and she also didn’t want him to think that she considered what they were doing _now_ to be anything like what they had done _then._ Well, it was _literally the same thing_ but in the ways that really mattered _entirely different_ because _everything was different_ now.

Buffy eased the shirt off Spike’s shoulders; he shrugged out of the arms then cast it aside and pulled her into another kiss, the kind of kiss that could compel a girl divulge state secrets if she had any and to go looking for some if she did not. She ran her hands over his shoulders, down his arms, around to his back, anywhere she could reach to relearn, reclaim, the contours of his body. She was pressed flush against him now and, holy moly, he felt good. She rocked against his burgeoning erection and that felt… OHMYGOD and elicited the loveliest moan from him that vibrated throughout his body and hers. When the need for oxygen compelled her to break the kiss, he drew ragged breaths in time to her own.

Pressing his forehead to hers he panted, “Is this… are you real?”

She nodded then sat back and pulled her tank top up and over her head, casting it aside. The lamp on the bedside table was on and, while it typically wasn’t her style to keep the lights on having never developed the ease with her own nudity that she knew he possessed, she was grateful to be able to drink him in. Which was only fair since he could see better in the dark anyway and, in the old days, darkness had never stopped him from commenting on how much he liked what he was seeing, in vivid detail. It used to irritate her, and make her even hotter, which irritated her even more.

“Missed your pretty titties, I have.”

She chuckled even as she reflexively averted her eyes, felt her face flush. Then his fingers were on her jawline, gently guiding her gaze to meet his. His expression had temporarily transformed from blissfully carnal to resolute, the way he looked at her when he was planning to drive home a point.

“You’re beautiful, Buffy. Beautiful then. Beautiful now. Beautiful every day for the rest of your very long and happy life.”

She felt a flutter in her chest, her eyes begin to well up. _Oh, hell no_ was she going to start blubbering when there were _so many_ _better things_ to do. Instead she leaned in to recapture his lips, her skin gliding exquisitely against his. Together they sank onto the bed to conduct a more thorough exploration of one another with their hands and mouths. Spike gave due attention to the part of her anatomy he claimed to have missed, while she couldn’t seem to get enough of his gorgeous chest, shoulders and neck, extracting a growl from him when she nipped him gently just below his ear. She loved the way it felt when his blunt teeth grazed her skin, setting off her slayer senses and ramping up the sensation, the way his taut and absurdly soft skin felt between her teeth. God, she had missed touching him.

His hand wandered south of the border, skittering over her still (if barely) clothed lower half and she shuddered. When he slipped his hand beneath the fabric to explore her drenched flesh, they moaned in unison.

“This all for me, pet?” 

_Oh yeah. For you. Just you, it turns out. My body just doesn’t respond this way to anyone else._

“Only if this is all for me,” she purred as she traced the bulge even more pronounced in his lightweight slacks than she recalled it being in the heavier denim of his trademark attire.

Then they stopped speaking, in complete sentences anyway, as each helped the other divest themselves of the remaining barriers between them then shimmied into the position favored of missionaries the world over – perhaps not the most creative, and with anyone else not necessarily the most stimulating, but then she had never known anyone else who knew how to use his hips the way Spike did. He looked into her eyes, questioningly, making extra sure that she was onboard for this. She nodded and smiled lopsidedly in reply.

He maintained eye contact as he slid home and all she could do was stare helplessly into the bluest eyes in human history as she was confronted by the exquisite perfection of him inside of her. He emitted a strangled laugh that, _whoa,_ she could feel on the inside and it was delightful. There had been so little joy between them when they’d done this before. She nodded in shared understanding. Like her, he had thought he’d remembered what this felt like, but _this_ was… just… _more._ Maybe it had never felt like this before.

Then he began to move and there was no before, or after. Just them. And soft exhortations, declarations, profanities and endearments. Skin against skin. Glorious friction. Noses bumping. Lips grazing as they swallowed each other’s gasps and moans and pleas. Her fingernails leaving halfmoons on the skin of his upper arms when he rolled his hips just so. His grip on her thigh tightening as their pace grew more frantic until it was just the right side of painful. Or maybe it had crossed that line, hell if she knew, because her orgasm bore down on her like a freight train and it was of the full-body, all-consuming variety that she felt from the tips of her toes to the tips of her fingers and everywhere in between, leaving every muscle she was aware of twitching. Through the haze of her pleasure she felt his movements grow more erratic and reached up to cup his head in her hands and drag his mouth to hers to capture his strangled sob as he joined her in release. Then she pulled him close and just held him to her, feeling so many things at once but mostly just very happy to be where she was. And, for a change, that did not fill her with dread.

**TBC**


	5. Bathe me in your glow

Buffy opened her eyes to a pair of beautiful blues then smiled and whispered, “Hello, cutie.”

Her bedmate’s only reply was to touch his cold wet nose to hers then he rolled over on his side on the pillow beside hers and commenced cleaning his belly. Flopping onto her back, she stretched and hummed contentedly then propped herself up on her elbows. At the foot of the bed lay a crisp white bathrobe, Turkish cotton, that looked even nicer than the ones supplied by the resort. Atop the bathrobe sat Joey, glaring.

“I know it was… but we’ve known each other for… been through _a lot_ and… anyway, do you even _see_ your baby daddy anymore?” Joey blinked once then hopped off the bed and stalked out of the house through a cat-sized opening in the door to the terrace.

“Didn’t think so,” Buffy muttered as she sat up to reach for the robe.

She made a beeline for the bathroom to pee, splash water onto her face, make sure her bed head evoked _temptress_ not _bird’s nest_ and deal with any potential morning breath situation. When she was finished, she opened the door to find Johnny sitting right outside of it.

“Dude, I like you and all, but it’ll never work,” she joked then stepped around him to head towards the kitchen. He turned and followed, undeterred, like a mini, furry, four-legged replica of Spike circa early 2001.

The prototype was standing with his back to her at the kitchen counter with one kitten lounging on his bare shoulder and another sitting on the counter beside him. His curls perfectly tousled, pants riding low on that delectable body, he was like a centerfold for _Hot Men with Kittens Magazine._ Which if such a thing did not exist, absolutely should.

“Found some coffee in a cupboard. Don’t know how old it is but smells alright. Can make you some if you like. Don’t make a half-bad cup. Or so I’ve been told.”

He hadn’t turned around, so she just stood there awkwardly, uncertain of whether to approach and kiss him good morning. The moment seemed to pass so she mentally shrugged and took a seat at the table. Johnny jumped up on the chair next to hers and continued to channel major _if I had opposable thumbs, I’d chain you up to make you love me_ vibes. He was pretty darned cute, though – and far less trouble than the original – so reached over to rub his ears and replied,

“That would be great, thanks. You _make_ coffee but don’t _drink_ it?”

“No, but Peaches does.”

“You make coffee for Angel?” She shook her head in disbelief.

_For a couple of undead guys who used to repeatedly claim to despise one another…_

“And clients, yeah. Mostly started so I could slip in decaf. Was bloody desperate. He’s even more insufferable when he’s overcaffeinated. Was either that or stake him and be done with it.”

As Spike set about making the coffee, the kitten on the counter jumped down and the kitten on his shoulder jumped first to the counter then to the floor. Both padded over to give her a sniff then moved on to entice their brother to join them. Her charms had apparently worn off, because he jumped down and chased them into the living room without looking back. What else was new, she mused with a roll of her eyes.

“I haven’t been formally introduced to Dee Dee and Tommy. Which is which?”

“Aside from the business end, Tommy has the white bib. Dee Dee has the pretty little star on her head.”

“From kitten poker to kitten daddy.”

“Was a long time ago.”

“Yeah, it was.”

He still hadn’t turned around and Buffy was starting to become self-conscious. Why wouldn’t he look at her? Did he regret what they had done the night before? It sure hadn’t seemed like it at the time as he’d cradled her in his arms before they had drifted off, whispering declarations such as: “ _Fuck, love, but that was bloody amazing.”_ “ _Please tell me that I didn’t just dream that.” “More than a bloke has a right to dream just having you here but this… afraid I’ve gone sack of hammers and imagined it.”_

“It’s nearly half-nine – wanted to let you sleep long as possible. What time are they expecting you to clear out?” he inquired, pulling her back to the present.

“Checkout’s at noon.”

“Right. Reckon we’ll pick you up something to eat on the way to collect your things then stop on the way back to stock up on human-type provisions… unless you… you’ve changed your mind… about… staying on.”

Buffy noticed that Spike had gone completely still and then it dawned on her. He was having the same doubts about her state of mind as she was having about his. Relief washing over her, she rose from the table and went to him, snaked her arms around him and pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. He expelled a heavy breath he’d been holding for lord only knew how long. Maybe since he’d opened his eyes that morning to find her sleeping beside him.

She pressed her cheek against his skin and said, “I’m not changing my mind, Spike. Thought I made that pretty clear last night.”

“Didn’t… wouldn’t want you to think I was taking… anything… for granted. Harsh light of day and all that.”

“There is no harsh light. The light here is beautiful,” she asserted with a smile.

When she felt his muscles flex, she loosened her grip to allow him to turn around and face her. His eyes alight with that hopeful look, he drew her into a sweet kiss then pressed his forehead to hers and said,

“Much as I love the look of you in my kitchen in a fluffy robe and sod else, should get a move on, love.”

With a nod she replied, “Yeah, and I have a few phone calls to make.”

He gestured in the direction of the bedrooms and advised, “All your… things are in your… the spare room. Go, put your kit on, have a shower if you like although…” He smirked and continued, “Point of fact, love the way you smell right now. Make your calls. I’ll bring you your coffee.”

“Four-star service, I like it,” she remarked with a grin.

“We aim to please,” he replied with a wink and rakish smile that was just so… _Gah!_ that Buffy was tempted to jump him right there in the kitchen. But he was right; there were things to take care of, so she refrained. For the time being.

* * * *

Buffy unwrapped a chocolate and placed it into her mouth, her eyes fluttering closed as she bit into the chocolatey-hazelnutty goodness. She was seated on the sofa with her legs tucked under her, Johnny curled up by her side, listening to music through her headphones. Everything about the moment felt like a victory of sorts, like she was thumbing her nose at every crisis, every fight, every loss. She looked up to see Spike moving around the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner – her dinner since his didn’t require much in the way of preparation – and looking utterly content to do so. He was truly the weirdest vampire. Even weirder as he stood bathed in the brilliant pinkish-orange light of a Cretan sunset. 

She smiled, replaying the surreally wonderful day. The way he looked driving across the island in his Wayfarers. Totally cool and smoking hot and like it was the most natural thing in the world for a guy who was technically dead. Watching him charm the old woman in her widow’s black in the checkout line next to them at the grocery store. The look in his eyes when she had emerged from the bedroom wearing a blush-pink knit bikini and a pair of floral pattern short shorts. Swimming laps while he sat under the cover of the umbrella, patiently (more or less) waiting to meticulously dry her off and reapply sunscreen to every square inch of exposed skin when she emerged from the pool. Curling up with him on the chaise and making out like horny teenagers. Napping. Then more making out. Walking down to the quiet stretch of nearby beach. Doing cartwheels and handstands in the surf. Playfully sparring when they were sure no one was around to see it and get the wrong idea. Racing back up to the house. Drinking wine. Making dinner. Talking. About little things. About life. L.A. London. People they both knew. Laughing. Just being.

She watched as Spike wiped his hands on a towel then set it aside and approached her, eyes soft, shirt open. So handsome that it gave her butterflies. Buffy took out her ear buds and scooted over to make room for him to join her. He sat down and swung his legs up then pulled her into his arms. Jolted awake by their movements, Johnny clambered across Buffy to nestle beside her on Spike’s cool chest. Which suited her fine. She didn’t mind sharing.

“Have a nice day, pet?” he asked while drawing lovely little circles on her back.

“Best. Vacation. Ever.”

“Happy to hear it, Summers, but not exactly a high bar, is it?” he noted wryly.

She chuckled and replied, “No, but I’m setting a new bar. Less property damage and demon slime. More day drinking and beach time.”

“Cheers to that,” he declared with a smile then leaned in to kiss her and kiss her and kiss her until she was a quivering Buffy-shaped Jell-O mold.

She knew he could kiss, obviously, but… damn. Oh, there had been kissing in the bad old days, but it had always been a means to an end. There had been no real affection in it; she hadn’t allowed it. When she would begin to feel anything beyond the undeniably pleasant physical sensation, she would disengage, do something… _else_ to distract from it. Block the message he would try to convey with his lips, his tongue, his hands as he’d try to caress her, cradle her, worship her like she was the most precious thing in the world. She simply would not, could not, have it then. Well, that was then. Now she reveled in his kisses. Gave as good as she got. At some point Johnny grew tired of his front row seat and jumped down. Buffy claimed the space he vacated, settling fulling against Spike, chest to chest, moaning at the sensation of the exposed skin of her belly pressed against his and smiling against his lips at the delightful answering rumble in his chest. The lazy state of arousal she had been in all day was starting to pick up steam when he uttered,

“Bugger. Better get up… pull myself together.”

“Wha…?”

“Don’t want to be rude… keep her waiting… again,” he replied between sweet little nibbles to her bottom lip and jawline.

“Hmm…” she hummed, acknowledging if not fully processing his words.

_Keep… her… waiting… her… her? HER!_

Buffy’s eyes flew open. She sat up and rearranged her disheveled clothing, what there was of it which wasn’t much, and cleared her throat. Spike, looking as bleary-eyed as she felt, ran his fingers through his hair then swung his legs to the floor.

“Sorry, pet.”

“Don’t be. It’s… you’ve earned it.”

He nodded then rose from the sofa, looked at his burgeoning erection and sighed. She caught his eyes then quickly averted hers and frowned in spite of herself. Even though she knew Spike’s nightly assignation with the priestess (who also happened to be obnoxiously attractive) was strictly business, the whole thing made her feel insecure and possessive. Like _she_ was the interloper on _their_ well-established routine, a third wheel.

“Power of a goddess… is… oh, let’s say _intimidating_ to a bloke. I am _impotent_ in the presence of such power. Every sense of the word, love. Couldn’t… well… if I wanted to… _and I don’t._ Can’t lay a finger on Phae, in fact. Weak as a kitten in her presence, I am, good as chipped. Precautionary, mostly in case some evil sod got the notion of scrambling my noggin to make me a weapon. All part of the deal.”

Buffy blinked up at him and he smiled then leaned forward to press his lips to her forehead and tacked on softly, “Won’t be long then we can spend the rest of the evening however you fancy.”

She nodded and settled back onto the sofa then put her headphones back on. It was a small price to pay, tiny really, for him to be able to have this.

* * * *

Calmly lounging and listening to tunes while Spike got naked with a hot priestess lasted all of three minutes. Buffy got up and padded to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. The door to the terrace was ajar, the sound of water splashing as he lapped the pool drifting in from below. She moved to the doorway but did not pass through it, listening as they exchanged pleasantries. Then there was silence and she felt a flutter of possessiveness that made her roll her eyes at her own foolishness. She was about to turn around and head back to the sofa when she heard Phaedra speak, her voice and accent as lovely of the rest of her as she observed,

“You taste of honey… of happiness… of love.”

Spike cleared his throat and replied, “Let’s keep that part between us, shall we?”

“She is here because she wants to be with you, no?”

“Think she could do with a break, yeah, but don’t want her to feel… _obliged_ when she’s ready to get back to her life… family… friends. Every bleeding minute with her is a gift but… been bearing the weight of the world on her shoulders, she has, since she was a sprog. Won’t add to it by _making demands_. Not anymore.”

“You are good.”

“Not really, but I talk a good game.”

The priestess laughed then said, “Until tomorrow, Sweet William.”

Buffy frowned and shook her head. She had hoped that her actions spoke louder than words, but obviously not if Spike thought he was just a bit of summer recreation. Setting her glass on the counter, she slid open the door and stepped out into the night air, determined to make him understand. He was just about the climb out of the pool when she reached the top of the stairway to the lower terrace and called out,

“No, stay there, I’ll come down!”

He nodded and sank back into the pool, folding his arms at the edge and watching as she descended the stairs. She padded over to where he was and sat down beside him, leaning back on her palms and dangling her legs into the pleasant water. They sat in silence for a while as she languidly kicked her legs to and fro and he gazed contentedly up at the moonlit, starry sky.

“You’re in love with me.” It was a statement not a question.

“Yeah, and the sun rose in the east this morning and set in the west, all day, every day, until I dust,” he replied on a sigh.

“And I’m here with you because…”

“Anyone ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop, Miss Goody Two Shoes?”

She smirked then went on, “It couldn’t _possibly_ be because _I want you_ , right?”

" _Want me?_ Know you _want_ me, love. Known that for a long time now. Knew that before _you_ did."

"Yeah, well before you go patting yourself on the back about that, so did Xander. So did _everybody…_ probably. When it comes to my own feelings, I’m usually the last to know… or admit it anyway.”

“Not fishing for a declaration, Buffy. Meant what I said to Phae. Happy to spend your holiday with you, is all. You deserve a getaway after a… _disappointment._ ”

“Ah, so that’s it, you think I’m on the rebound. You want to know why I’m not… how did you put it, _taking a bite out of the Big Apple?_ Because I wasn’t invited.”

“Yeah, well one of these days your taste in men is bound to improve, Summers. I have faith in you.”

“No, I’m pretty sure my taste is set in stone,” she shot back pointedly. When he didn’t respond she continued,

“A few weeks ago, I was out shopping for this trip, picked out the dress I was wearing the other night, this bathing suit. I was in such a good mood. Excited. Looking forward to a romantic holiday with my boyfriend. Like a normal person. When I got back, Pete was waiting for me at the flat. That’s when he told me about New York. I was stunned at first, at least I thought I was, until I thought about it and realized that for months I had been doing that thing I do… going all in on the _idea_ of us… putting on a good show… but really… to him… I guess it felt like I was…”

“In the same room but 10,000 sodding miles away?”

“Bingo.”

“Got a lot on your plate, you do. Always. Put a lot of pressure on yourself.”

“All true but that’s no excuse for being so… _absent_ to the person who is supposed to be my partner. That’s never going to work. Pete deserves better. _Everyone_ deserves better.”

“ _You_ deserve better, love. God knows, you deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah, I do, which is why I’m here. I’m not staying for an extra week or two, Spike. I’m _staying._ This morning, I told Giles that I’m requesting a formal leave of absence, at least through next month. Maybe longer. That is, if you’ll have me.”

The look on his face was a priceless mixture of shock and disbelief. He slid over to settle between her partially submerged legs, bracing his hands on the edge of the pool on either side of her body, and searched her eyes for any sign of hesitation or reservation. Finding nothing but calm resolve he challenged,

“And when my visit to _Fantasy Island_ draws to a close? Be a lot harder to pretend I’m an ordinary bloke then, won’t it?”

“I didn’t even know about _that_ until I showed up yesterday. I know exactly what… _who_ you are. And… I think… I _know_ … that where I want to be right now is _with you.”_

“Right now,” he repeated with a sniff then added, “Like I been saying…”

“ _Right now_ is all that any of us can really promise… well, we _mortals_ anyway, but _not_ like you’ve been saying. I think it’s time for us to play this out… what… where we might have gone if… things… had been different. Maybe in a few weeks… a few days… we’ll be at each other’s throats. Then we’ll know and we can each move on. But until then I don’t think anyone else is going to stand a chance. Not really. Not with me.”

“Sure _I’m the one_ what’s standing in the way of anyone else?”

Frowning she replied, “As opposed to?” Daring him to say it. When he didn’t, she said,

“Please tell me that the two of you haven’t worked out some kind of twisted _gentlemen’s agreement._ ”

“No!” he insisted, then averted his eyes and mumbled, “Not in writing or anything.”

Buffy drew a deep, fortifying breath and willed herself not to punch him in the nose. She was _so_ _not having_ Spike throw Angel up as an obstacle. Instead she pointed out,

“Well, you already violated it and, besides, I am not a _thing_ to be negotiated over. _I decide_ who I want to be with. Angel already knows it isn’t him. Remember the topiary garden in the cemetery… the one possessed by the spirits of some of its crankier residents? Ecuador? Last year?”

“Not likely to forget a fight with shrubbery shaped like a giant tortoise.”

“I made a remark, a reference to some ridiculous situation in Sunnydale, I don’t even remember what. But I do remember that you got the reference. He did not. I’ll never forget his expression – it was written all over his face that he understood.”

“Understood what, pet?”

“That I had moved on. A long time ago.”

He blinked as if calling up a memory then muttered, “Well… bloody hell,” with that faraway look in his eye that told her he was replaying a scene in his mind.

Buffy decided to let him play it out – whatever it was, it was between him and Angel and of no concern to her, having made her position on the matter crystal clear. So, she sat back, closed her eyes and basked in the perfect air of a Mediterranean summer evening. She knew it was _possible_ Spike could conclude that, loving her aside, this _was not_ what he had signed up for when he’d told her that she didn’t have to leave if she didn’t want to. If that was what he ultimately decided then she would respect his wishes because, God knows, he had long ago earned her respect. Then she would dust herself off and get on with the rest of her life… after gorging on chocolate and ugly crying for a month or six… but she would survive because that’s _what she did_ and _who she was_ … the ultimate survivor. But, man, she hoped he’d take a chance on letting her love him back. Properly. Finally.

**TBC**


	6. Like lost little birds

Buffy awoke to find Spike dead (literally… sort of) to the world and smiled. If he stayed that way for a while, it would allow her to bask in the sight of him in sunlight. He looked so beautiful while he slept, so _sweet,_ so _innocent_ , which… ok… so _not._ It wasn’t fair that someone so pretty could also be so deadly. She figured that must have served him well over the years – over a century of drawing unwitting sweet young things to their doom. Not just with his looks but he could pour on the charm too if he wanted to. And was a keen observer of human nature so he’d probably have figured out his victims’ deepest insecurities and applied just the right words to draw them close, make them swoon, before going in for the kill. And yet, _even then,_ there had been more to him. He had also been fiercely loyal, capable of loving deeply enough to put the safety and wellbeing of another above his own, and susceptible to getting his heart broken _._ And, man, had that started messing with her world view from pretty much the moment she had set eyes on him. Which probably had a lot to do with why she never quite got around to ending him but, instead, began letting him into her life. A little at a time until…

Damn, but she had to pee. And probably feed the four-legged roommates if she were hoping to enjoy more quiet alone time in bed with her gorgeous slumbering vampire. Sliding gingerly away from him, she stood up and winced because _whoa… so not innocent._ Smirking as she reached for the robe, she pulled it on and quietly padded out of the room.

Biological needs met, she went into the kitchen and, sure enough, there were the Ramones, chilling on the terrace right outside the kitchen door. Sliding it open she offered,

“Breakfast, anyone?”

She filled the food bowls and set them out then, as she cleaned and refilled the large water bowl, Buffy pondered the fact that she had never done a mundane domestic chore for Spike, at least none that she could recall. Unless feeding your mortal enemy while he was chained up in your watcher’s bathtub counted. Which, probably not. Maybe she had done something for him that last year in Sunnydale – she’d like to think that she had – but nothing came to mind.

She poured herself a tall glass of water then stood in the doorway sipping it. Watching the cats snarf their breakfast. Inhaling the fresh morning air. Enjoying the afterglow of a night of intensely passionate sex. The intensity wasn’t new, nor was the passion – that had been them from the start – but the depth of feeling was. That was hardly a surprise since, _then_ , she had been afflicted by a pervasive-bordering-on-crippling numbness that only a brutal collision with his body had been able to (temporarily) permeate. No, the _real surprise_ was the _fun._

Given the less than optimal (to quote her therapist’s unintentionally hilarious understatement) start to her sex life, Buffy didn’t tend to associate sex with fun. She did, however, tend to associate it with disappointment, betrayal, pain, death and catastrophe. And not necessarily in that order. Not that she hadn’t enjoyed her sexual experiences, particularly the more recent ones that had not occurred over a hellmouth which tended to lower the stakes, aside from the usual _sex with the living requires rigorous birth control and STD prevention._

But sex with Spike had always been _next level_ and, now that she was feeling _everything_ , was something more and that was even _before_ she’d inadvertently found that ticklish spot and he had _giggled._ Not an evil snicker. Not a wry chuckle. Not a deep rumble of self-satisfaction at driving her out of her mind, although that was also a personal favorite to be sure. No, it had been a totally spontaneous, unrestrained giggle that had the stunning effect of kicking the last door in her heart wide open like the expert door-kicker he was. The fact that he’d been embarrassed about it and denied it had just made her want to hear it again. So, she had tickled him again. Which had led to demands that she stop. Which she’d ignored of course because, as she had pointed out, she was Buffy the Vampire Slayer and would show no mercy to vampires. Which had led to threats. And counterthreats. And ultimately to such ardent fucking that she glanced over her shoulder at the kitchen table and, raising her eyebrows, marveled at the fact that it was still standing and by all appearances remained structurally sound.

Another thing that hadn’t changed: they were still hell on furniture.

Draining her glass, she set it in the sink then went back into the bedroom. Spike was still out cold, so Buffy gently climbed onto the bed beside him and, tucking her legs under her, watched him sleep while replaying his reaction when she’d told him about her plans. He hadn’t hesitated for long before pulling her into the pool, shorts and all, wrapping his arms around her and clinging to her as if his very existence depended on it. She had stroked his hair and smiled against his neck. Since he had seemed content enough to do so, she’d ignored the erection pressing against her belly until he’d unceremoniously peeled off her shorts and bikini, each article hitting stone with a wet thwap. Then he had proceeded to duck under the water, throw her legs over his shoulders and make her very grateful that he did not have to breathe. Eventually they had made it out of the pool, to the poolside terrace, to the upper terrace, to the kitchen and, ultimately, to bed by which time (lucky for the bed) they were sated and exhausted and content to exchange soft words and laughter until drifting off, sex drunk and love happy.

_Love._

Buffy hadn’t used the ‘L’ word yet, out loud, but she knew that she would. She knew what she wanted; she wanted Spike. Because she loved Spike. Because she knew who she was with Spike. Because it was easy to be who she was with Spike. Because she knew who he was. Because she knew how hard he had fought to become who he was. Because she loved who he had become. Her champion. Her lover. Hers.

Seeing him bathed in the ethereal light streaming into the room, she was reminded of the last time, the only time, she had told him she loved him and felt her eyes well up. She wasn’t a big crier – or at least hadn’t been since the days of her _grand tragic love affair_ when she was too young and too dumb to realize that there was nothing grand about a situation that made you feel like shit most of the time – but she had been fighting off tears a lot ever since she’d set eyes on him in Rethymno. Maybe it was time she stopped fighting it and allowed herself to _just feel… all of it._ The gratitude that they were together. The joy of surrender to what she wanted. The absolute wonder at the unlikely outcome, after everything they had been through since he’d first stepped out of the shadows in the alley behind the Bronze a lifetime (and a couple of deaths but who’s counting) ago, that they’d end up here. The love – her deep, abiding love for Spike. She felt dampness on her cheeks and smiled impishly. Maybe she _was_ a crier after all.

Spike stirred, his eyes fluttering open and scanning his surroundings until they found hers and he muttered, “Love?”

“That’s me,” she replied.

Propping himself up on his elbows he furrowed his brow and asked, “Are you…? Is everything…?” then his expression morphed from disorientation to concern to abject misery via profound anxiety as he sat up straight and added, “Oh pet, please tell me you’re alright… that I… I… didn’t…”

_Wait, what? That I’m…? Shit… he thinks that I…_

Rubbing the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands, she insisted, “Oh my God, Spike, I’m fine. Better that fine. I’m great. Terrific. Copacetic. Five by five, like Faith says. I’m good. Really.”

He nodded but blinked away from her, fists balled at his sides, and how the hell she had managed to screw up _this moment_ , Buffy had no idea… well, besides her long, pathetic history of _morning afters_ … and the ill-timed tears… and the bathrobe…

_Jesus._

“Spike, look at me. Please.”

When he did, she asserted, “Last night was _perfect_ and _everything I wanted._ ”

She reached out to touch his shoulder and he flinched. She realized that he was trembling. It broke her heart that he could think that she had been hurt by anything he’d… _they’d_ done the night before.

“Oh… my sweet William,” she uttered then clambered onto is lap, pulled him into a tender embrace and whispered, “That was a long time ago. Everything is different now. _We’re_ different now.”

“Not quite so long for me, pet,” he confessed even as she felt his body relax against hers and his arms encircle her loosely.

Leaning back, Buffy blinked in confusion and inquired, “What does that mean?”

On a heavy sigh he replied, “Didn’t want to get into it on our holiday but… the job… what went tits up for Angel and me…”

“Yeah?”

“Ended up in a place, _really unpleasant_ place, where we each got to relive our _greatest hits._ Best of the worst of Angelus and yours truly. And not like watching it on telly; full immersive experience, virtual sodding reality - doing those things, unable to stop myself _now_ from what I did _then_.”

“My God, Spike, I’m so sorry.”

“Before you go shedding any tears over my misfortune, wasn’t anything I _hadn’t_ done, so…” He shrugged.

“And one of the things was…”

“You know it, Buffy. Maybe it shouldn’t be, considering all I’ve done, but it’s the thing I most regret. Your tears… _felt them_. Woke me up. Seeing you there… like that, took me back, I suppose.”

Pressing her forehead to his she asserted, “That… what you went through, wasn’t real. This is real. I’m real. And I’m here. Because I want to be. With you. I need you to understand that. Please tell me you do.”

Tightening his hold on her he assured, “Don’t mind me, love. Didn’t mean to upset you. It’s why I didn’t want to burden you with…”

She looked into his eyes and said, “This isn’t… I’m fine, Spike. I’ve had therapy. Lots of it.”

“You… you’ve been _alright,_ yeah?”

“Yes… yes, I have. There’s no shame in it, and maybe… hopefully one day there won’t be any stigma either. After we activated the slayers and some had…” Buffy hesitated, recalling her horror when she had learned the details of his encounter with the mentally-fractured slayer then continued, “Difficulty coping, we decided that we needed to get mental health professionals on the payroll, that we were responsible for the emotional wellbeing of slayers not just their physical health and wellness. One day, I was having coffee with the head of our counseling staff and I guess I was asking a lot of questions and she read between the lines – asked if I might be interested in therapy, that she’d be happy to recommend someone if I was and… I guess I was.”

She shrugged and went on, “And it’s been good. Faith and I are the last of the old guard. We were supposed to suck it up and just keep going until… something stopped us. And if we struggled, faltered, the Council didn’t care because we were expendable, a perpetually renewable resource.”

Spike scowled and muttered, ‘Bloody wankers.”

“Yeah, they were. But that’s over and I’ve had a lot of time to examine… everything since I was called. Even before… my parent’s crummy marriage, divorce, my non-relationship with Dad. And… all the times I thought there was something wrong with me.”

“ _You?_ Where in bloody blazes you get such a daft idea, Summers? Well, aside from a certain tosser I know drumming into your head that _you’d come back wrong_ ,” he recalled with a frown.

“I should have gotten help for my depression that year, Spike. You couldn’t fix me. _I_ couldn’t even fix me. But I also know that I wouldn’t have survived it without you. Awful as it was… the way it… _played out_. I’ve spent a lot of time going over all of it, and a lot of it… I don’t know, I’ll probably never understand but the important thing is that I’m learning to live with it. All of it.”

“Were crying this morning, love.”

“A _good_ cry. I try not to keep things so bottled up these days. I mean, I’m still not very good at it but, here goes, I woke up _so happy_ this morning because I’m here with you and I love you. I love you, Spike. There, I’ve said it… twice,” she tacked on with a radiant smile.

“You…” was all he managed in response.

“Yes, I do and if you tell me I don’t, I’ll have to hit you in the nose again.”

“Won’t. Just happy you’re okay.”

“I really am. Well, elbow’s a little sore where I whacked it on a table leg last night.”

“Is that so?” he remarked, quirking an eyebrow at her.

“Lost my balance for a sec. I mean, I was pretty much _hanging upside down_ at the time, so…” She shrugged and smirked.

He snickered then pulled her tightly to him and kissed her for a very long time. Then he unbelted her robe and took his time removing it, kissing every inch of skin revealed along the way, and making her giggle when he made a point of kissing the boo-boo on her elbow. Twice. They spent the rest of the morning in lazy exploration of one another, their lovemaking as sweet and languorous as it had been intense and frenzied the night before.

* * * *

Curled around Spike on the sofa, with a kitten (or three depending on when she checked) nestled in there for good measure, Buffy took stock of the routine they had settled into in the weeks since she had joined him there. It was unarguably leisurely. It was unapologetically pleasant. It was unabashedly lazy. In summary, they did whatever the hell they wanted whenever the hell they wanted. And what they had been doing since breakfast was lounging on the sofa. They were currently sharing one outfit, he the bottom half – a pair of khakis – and she one of the lightweight button-down shirts she had taken to commandeering (not that he complained) over her underwear. She couldn’t remember the last time either of them had put on footwear. It was splendid.

Spike was reading a book, a collection of Louise Glück poetry to be precise. She was listening to music – a little of this, a little of that, reflecting the supreme chill of her present reality. Lifting her head off his chest, she removed an earbud and said,

“It’s almost noon. I should probably get up and do something productive.”

“Don’t you bloody dare,” he replied, shooting her a look of feigned disapproval out of the corner of his eye, then asked, “What’s that you’re listening to? Sounds like a waltz.”

“It is, it’s right in the title.”

“Been a mo since I danced a waltz,” he stated with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Probably because it’s the 21st Century, Spike.”

“Still making waltzes, aren’t they? Why shouldn’t people waltz to them?”

She shrugged and responded, “I see your point. Back when my life was my own and I used to skate, I remember skating to waltzes but that was forever ago. You used to waltz with Dru?”

“Some but… Mum taught me.” 

Buffy smiled and commented, “Aw, that’s sweet.”

“Yeah, thought teaching me to dance properly would help me court and marry a suitable young woman.”

“And how’d that work out for you?”

He chuckled and replied, “Fair point, but seeing as I have a suitable young woman in my arms right now… that thing play out loud?”

“Yeah, sound quality’s not great but you can hear it…wait, what?”

“May I have the pleasure of dancing this waltz with you, Miss Summers?”

It still blew her mind a little when he did that, when he seamlessly slipped into his proper English gentleman’s accent. It was also kind of hot. She lifted her head and looked into his eyes.

“You want to dance.”

“And why not? Got a better offer?” he responded quirking an eyebrow.

Buffy rolled her eyes and sat up, pulled the earbud out of the other ear and the headphones out of the jack then climbed off the sofa. Spike followed. She hit _repeat_ on the song, set her phone down and faced him. He gave her a polite little bow and she felt herself blush, which was sort of ridiculous. Then he held out his arms and she stepped into them. They started to move, a bit haltingly at first but soon they were gliding easily around the room, as though they had done this 1000 times before. Because, of course, their bodies just synched.

“Would William be scandalized dancing with a woman wearing his shirt and… his shirt?” Buffy inquired with a smirk.

“Scandalized? Berk would faint dead holding a bloody brilliant, beautiful goddess in his arms, let alone a half-naked one. In his wildest dreams, never dreamt the likes of you, Summers.”

They both laughed at that. Bathed in the brilliant glow of the midday sun flooding the room, they waltzed for quite a while. Laughing, talking and sharing sweet kisses as they danced. It was perfect.

* * * *

Buffy’s face was pressed into the crook of Spike’s neck, her heartrate and breathing just beginning to return to normal when he purred,

“Now _that_ was a bit of alright, you diabolical minx.”

She sat back, which had the effect of changing the angle of his semi-flaccid – _Did he ever go completely soft in her presence?_ – penis that was still inside her. She shuddered and sighed then settled against the steering wheel of the Land Rover and asked,

“Where do you get these words? And what even is a _minx_ anyway?”

“It’s a slayer what should have put me out of my misery and staked me years ago instead of cruelly bewitching me, turning me every which way until the only place I want to be is inside her perfect quim.”

“Works for me,” she stated with a triumphant grin that had the effect of, um, making him noticeably _less_ flaccid.

“Just look at you,” he said with genuine awe as he cupped her right breast exposed when the detachable strap to the halter top of her dress had become detached and the bodice pulled down. By him, of course.

“I hope you’re the only one who can see me right now,” she said looking self-consciously around the gravel parking area at one of Crete’s many scenic overlooks.

“Well off the main road and black as pitch out here. Lucky for me, I can see perfectly.” He teeth shone brightly to signal a grin of the shit-eating variety.

“With your enhanced vampire eyeballs,” she teased.

He pinched. She gasped. He swelled inside of her. At this rate they were never getting back to the house. Fortunately, Spike had arranged for Phaedra to visit at dusk, before they had gone out for the evening. Which hadn’t been a problem. The days were getting shorter. It was September. Autumn would be upon them in a couple weeks and with it the end of their dreamy escape to paradise. Which was bittersweet, to be sure, but Buffy was also eager to _come out_ to the world, their odd little corner of it anyway. Spike was less enthusiastic or convinced, repeatedly claiming that whatever came after, he would never be anything but grateful for their time together on Crete. It was infuriating but rather than wasting a moment of his summer in the sunshine arguing or trying to convince him, she had decided to show him that what they were to one another, and what they had together, would outlast the summer by simply sticking around. Following him back to L.A. if she had to. Making a regular nuisance of herself if necessary. After all, she had learned dogged persistence from the best.

“Was dying to shag you in your pretty little frock. Could barely think of anything else all night. Look and smell so lovely, you do, nearly drove the bad, rude demon in me ‘round the bend wanting to have the slayer all dressed up for me like a sweet treat.”

“Uh, yeah, you were pretty transparent about that.”

Which was why after enjoying a wonderful dinner under a canopy of lemon trees in the courtyard of a cozy, family-run restaurant, she had told him she’d meet him at the car, gone to the rest room, slipped off her lace panties and stuffed them into her purse. Then, as they were pulling out of the parking lot, she had made a show of getting something out of her purse, pointedly removing the underwear in the process which had of course immediately drawn his considerable interest. They had made it all of two miles, maybe, before he had pulled off the road, dragged her onto his lap and had his wicked way with her.

“And now…” she warned then, combining her superior muscle control with a vicious swivel of her hips to make him hiss and dig his fingers into her flesh, added,

“You’re in for a _world of hurt,_ Big Bad.”

The horizon was taking on a pinkish glow when they finally pulled back onto the road. Having _worked off_ dinner, Buffy’s stomach was growling by the time they got home. Spike was feeling especially favorably disposed towards not only catering to but anticipating her every whim and desire. So, he made her a breakfast fit for a queen and gazed adoringly at her over a mug of blood as she ate it. Then they fed the cats, stripped down, washed up, and climbed into bed, where they fell into glorious oblivion. Together.

**TBC**


	7. Epilogue: Going long into the night as if we were different

_It’s true_

_Distance just makes my heart grow for you_

_And everything I want for us to do_

_Build an island between me and you_

_Build an island between me and you_

_Dawn is going to love this._

Buffy smiled as she gave her adorable equine neighbor one last pat before turning to walk back to the farmhouse. Icelandic ponies were so darn cute that she knew it would be love at first sight for her little sister, who had adored My Little Pony as a kid. Well, in her manufactured history anyway, the shared memories of which were so vivid to them both that they had long ago agreed to accept Dawn’s childhood as reality and move on. What really mattered was that they were sisters, and that they took the time to make new memories. Which was why Buffy was looking forward to Dawn’s arrival with her boyfriend to spend the holidays in a new place. A wild place. A magical place. A stunningly beautiful place. A place she would never, ever be able to pronounce no matter how hard she tried: Grímsnes- og Grafningshreppur, Iceland.

She was _beyond ready_ for something new. Her fall had been so stressful, exhausting and lonely that she thought she must have been reading the calendar wrong since traditionally the _really big trouble_ tended to come in the first half of the year. Much as it pained her to admit it, Spike had been dead on. What they had on Crete was not real life and not sustainable once they left the island. She had been immediately faced with having to extract a kidnapped Giles from a rogue coven of witches planning to leverage him as a bargaining chip to compel Willow to let them tap into her power. Meanwhile, Spike had rushed back to L.A. to help Angel stop another threatening apocalypse because _yo, California, y’all_. There hadn’t been a moment to even think about, let alone discuss in any meaningful way, where they would go from the happiest six weeks of her adult life and, to hear him tell it, his entire existence living or undead.

Buffy sighed wistfully as she padded through the snow towards the house. The sun would be down soon, after the whopping four hours and eight minutes of sunlight they got on the Winter Solstice in this part of the world. And she had thought the winter days were short in London. It took a bit of getting used to, but she didn’t mind. The long nights had the effect of slowing her down, quieting her mind, and helping her regroup after an autumn from hell. Ever since her arrival earlier in the month, once she was confident that things had quieted down sufficiently to hand off her slayer duties to others, she had occupied herself with long hikes in the precious daylight hours, reading, writing in her journal and, wonders never ceased, cooking healthy meals for herself. And, of course, continuing the ritual she had established at home of long, yearning telephone calls with a vampire half a world away.

In fact, the only regret she had about spending the holidays here was leaving behind Joey and Johnny, the half of the Ramones that were now officially members of her household while Tommy and Dee Dee had scored the sweet gig of being doted on by an entire coven of witches in Devon. Buffy smirked at how easy it was to guilt Giles into both cat sitting for her, and dog sitting for Dawn, by merely pointing out how much trouble he had caused by going and getting himself abducted by some very wicked witches. She would need to bring something nice back for him. A bottle of Brennivín might do.

She stepped onto the deck, glanced over at the pool and shook her head, still having trouble wrapping her mind around the fact that you could swim outdoors in the dead of winter here because volcanoes. It had been such a novelty that she’d spent part of every day in the pool her first week here but had since settled into a routine of doing laps every other morning as part of her fitness regimen. She made a mental note to remind Dawn that they should bring their swimsuits since she had forgotten hers and been forced to buy one in Reykjavik which, in a place where almost everything except for moss, fish and sheep products was imported, had cost her a small fortune. With a shrug, Buffy turned and went into the house to settle in for another long winter’s night.

* * * *

She was cleaning up after dinner when something caught her attention. At first, a thrill of excitement shot through her then she reminded herself that she was still new-ish in town and it was probably another member of the local _I’m here to kill you, slayer_ welcome wagon. Buffy rolled her eyes ( _Would they ever learn?_ ), dried off her hands, grabbed one of the stakes she’d stashed in the junk drawer then unlocked and slid open the door to the deck. She flipped on the patio lighting then stepped outside, shivering in the chill night air and regretting that she hadn’t taken the time to grab her warm, fluffy down coat. Scanning the area, she was startled when a head bobbed up in the pool.

“Sweet digs, Summers!” he called out to her then went under again.

“Why you…” she muttered under her breath then charged across the deck with what she could only assume was an idiotic grin plastered on her face.

When she reached the pool deck, she found his boots next to a large duffel bag upon which his hastily discarded clothing and duster were haphazardly piled then turned and walked to the edge of the pool. He popped up again right in front of her and shot her a winning smile. Still clutching the stake, she folded her arms at her chest. Her expression neutral, she stated in a tone of feigned indifference,

“I thought you couldn’t get away.”

“Change of plans.”

“Really? What happened?”

“Couldn’t bloody stand another minute of it, of being apart from you, is what happened,” he replied then reached up to caress her booted ankle, mist rising from his skin warmed by the pool.

Quirking an eyebrow, she responded, “Could have let a girl know.”

Shrugging he replied, “Didn’t want to take the time, once I decided.”

“And your _business partner…?”_

“Said he was tired of watching me mope about once the major kerfuffle was kerfuffed. Said he and his boy could handle whatever crops up the next few weeks. That we’d _reassess_ in the new year, whatever in bloody blazes that means. Now…” he continued, grasping her ankle more insistently,

“Get your kit off and your pretty little arse in here or you’re coming in like that.”

“Don’t even try or I’ll stake you,” she warned, twirling the stake in her hand, then added, “This sweater is N. Peal, Spike.”

“That’s my girl,” he purred then sank back into the pool and tacked on, “But don’t make me wait.”

As if _she_ could wait. Buffy put down the stake then set about shedding her boots and clothing, moving as swiftly as possible to get out of the frigid night air and into the warm water. Fortunately, undressing quickly was a skill she had mastered long ago. With him, in fact. She had barely hit the water when she felt his wonderfully strong, loving arms encircling her, crushing her to him, his lips on hers. When her need for oxygen outweighed her need for him, she offered,

“You’ll be able to spend oodles of time out here if you want. The sun barely comes out this time of year. But you’ll need to wear a suit. Dawn and Cary will be here the day after tomorrow and I’d rather not scar them for life.”

He nodded then replied, “Gotta get in as much shagging as we can meantime if I’ve any sodding hope of behaving myself and playing proper host to your hostess.”

“Oh, you’ll behave yourself,” she shot back teasingly then, turning serious, asked, “Do you miss it? The sunshine?”

“Sometimes but, all’s said and done, not really where I belong. Besides, look at that show… it’s like your eyes lighting up the whole bloody sky.”

Buffy followed his gaze to the green glow of the Northern Lights on the horizon then smiled and kissed him. Pulling him back into a tight embrace she whispered against his skin, “I’m so happy you’re here. You’re my Christmas present.”

“Oh, pet,” he sighed then murmured, “Thálassa kaì pŷr kaì gynḗ, kakà tría.”

Pulling back slightly she furrowed her brow and said, “Huh? That doesn’t sound like Icelandic.”

“It’s Greek, love. Means ‘Sea and fire and woman, three evils.’”

“I’ll beg your pardon. Look who’s talking.”

“Recall my Greek tutor telling me – and bear with me on this one, been well over a century – it’s not _evil_ in that sense, more like those are three things what have the power to change the course of a bloke’s life whether he likes it or not.”

“Oh,” Buffy replied with a nod, adding, “I like it.”

“Thought you might,” he replied with a grin then pulled her into a kiss that went on forever.

They stayed in the pool for hours, making love under a night sky glimmering like emeralds.

**ENDIRINN**

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter titles and creative inspiration from the following works that are NOT the author's:  
> Prologue: 'Summertime Sadness' by Lana Del Rey off 'Born to Die' (2012)  
> Chapter 1: 'Somebody That I Used to Know' by Gotye feat. Kimbra off 'Making Mirrors' (2011)  
> Chapter 2: 'R U Mine?' by Arctic Monkeys, Single Release Version (2012)  
> Chatepr 3: 'Love Interruption' by Jack White, Single (2012)  
> Chapter 4: 'Something Purer' by Mystery Jets off 'Radlands' (2012)  
> Chapter 5: 'Little Waltz' by Basia Bulat off 'Oh, My Darling' (2007)  
> Epilogue: 'We Should Be Swimming' by Zulu Winter off 'Language' (2012)
> 
> Finally, entire work and lyrics featured in Epilogue inspired by 'Islands' by Hey Ocean off 'IS' (2011)


End file.
